by Gun Brooke
Kellen took a seat across from Rae as she sat down at her alu-plexi desk and watched the spinning SC insignia fade. A stream of unintelligible text flooded the screen, and Rae turned it toward Kellen. “A resistance encryption?”
“Yes.” Kellen used the small keyboard to punch in a few commands, and one by one, the lines on the screen turned into Premoni, the official language of the Supreme Constellations.
“Read it out loud to me, please,” Rae said, and rubbed her temples.
“Very well.” Kellen pulled the screen closer. “Gantharian resistance to Supreme Constellations. Paladin, second in command of resistance cell 0011, requesting assistance. Confirm more than 6,500 resistance members, predominately senior officers, captured two weeks ago. One mission successfully completed. Forestalled shipment of prisoners to asteroid prisons. Reports of two thousand prisoner transports in progress. Onotharians in possession of new fleet of vessels, capable of transporting 750 individuals each. Specs included. Request you use encrypted messages sent on rotating frequencies, according to resistance movement protocols. End of message.”
“That’s not very detailed,” Rae sighed. “Seems like they really need us, though.”
“You need to get me to the surface to make contact with Paladin. I can easily find a transmitter and configure it to fit the resistance’s specifications. Once I make contact—”
“No,” Rae interrupted, and ran her fingertip along the encrypted message on the computer screen. “It’s too dangerous for you to go down there alone. You’re wanted by the OECS, among other things. If you’re captured alone, we might never hear from you again. We stay together.”
“You knew this mission would be dangerous,” Kellen said, frowning. “So what do you suggest?”
Rae knew what she intended to do, which, given the circumstances, was just as dangerous. No way was she giving the Onotharians an opportunity to imprison the last Protector of the Realm. Kellen would be the second-best catch, from a propaganda point of view, after Armeo M’Aido O’Saral. The thought of Kellen, defiant and not intending to reveal any information, in the OECS’s hands, made her furious. Kellen would withstand torture for days on end without ever giving them anything.
Rae tapped her fingernails on the desk as she met Kellen’s eyes with determination. “I’ll put together an away team consisting of you, Leanne, Owena, and me, and we’ll use Ensign Hammad’s medical skills with the derma fuser to turn us into Gantharians. It’ll be a superficial transformation, but it’s a good way to avoid detection at this stage.”
“We’ll be targeted for identification if anyone becomes even remotely suspicious,” Kellen objected.
“I know. We’ll have to be inconspicuous and not take unnecessary chances.”
“Should you go with us?” Kellen asked. “You’re in charge of this mission. If something happened to you—”
“I’m going.” Rae looked steadily at Kellen. “You’re my wife, my responsibility, not to mention you’re the Protector of the Realm. I will not sit idly by and let you put yourself at risk alone.”
“And if anything goes awry?”
Rae smiled. “Then we call in the marines.”
*
Kellen stood by the door to the small, state-of-the-art infirmary and regarded her wife with amazement. Rae’s usually calm, gray eyes were now brilliant blue, and her skin reflected the fake Gantharian blood cells by shimmering in the faintest of blue. Her red hair, unheard of among true Gantharians, was now black, with violet highlights, and with her thin lips and command presence, she was spectacular.
“I could walk right by my mother and she wouldn’t recognize me,” Leanne D’Artansis said, not without glee. Her hair was white-blond and her eyes crystal blue. The freckles on her nose were now almost invisible and the tinge to her skin similar to Rae’s. Leanne turned to look at Owena, her eyes widening. “Oh, and you look beautiful!”
Owena, tall and muscular, had natural black hair and blue eyes. Ensign Hammad had saturated her colors and also given her chiseled face an even stronger look.
“Owena, you look like the guardswomen that used to work as palace officers,” Kellen said. “I’m not so sure you can get by with that true Gantharian warrior look. The Onotharians may think you’re one of the few that got away.”
“I will deal with them if that happens,” Owena said with absolute confidence in her voice. The tactical chief had always carried herself with assurance, but only after she’d met Leanne and let the young Cormanian into her heart did she gain the calm self-esteem she now oozed.
“I bet you will.” Leanne grinned and swatted Owena’s arm. “And if you don’t, I will.”
“Here are civilian clothes, produced from Gantharian patterns. They’ll hold your weapons without being obvious.” Ensign Hammad brought them four piles of garments, and they quickly changed clothes, and then Kellen checked her appearance. She wore dark blue leather-like trousers and a white wool-lace sweater, and over it a long black caftan made of a thick sort of silk that farmers produced in the southern hemisphere. It withstood rain and even snow, and still allowed the skin to breathe. She felt quite at ease wearing the traditional clothes of her homeworld and rolled her shoulders to test their comfort. The other three dressed in similar clothes, but not completely alike.
“Admiral, I must scan you for any deficiency in the inoculations you went through during the preparation for this mission,” Ensign Hammad said, and pulled out a small tubular device. Two dark blue lights glimmered at one end, and it emitted a soft hum.
Rae looked sharply at her. “Any reason to suspect that we may run into foreign agents we can’t handle?”
“No, but we prepared with less time than usual, and regulations dictate that I make sure you’re sufficiently protected.” Hammad began to run the scanner up and down Rae’s body and looked pleased. “You’re clear, ma’am.”
“Good.” Rae oversaw the procedure with the other three, and Kellen knew she wouldn’t let any of them deploy to Gantharat unless things were done by the book.
“You’re all ready, Admiral.”
“Excellent.” Rae tugged her communicator. “Jacelon to shuttle bay. What’s the status of our assault craft?”
Kellen had personally made sure the two vessels awaiting them in the shuttle bay were handling at peak efficiency. She wasn’t worried and nodded, pleased, when the ensign in charge of ships’ maintenance affirmed that they were ready for action.
“Very well. Let’s go, then.” Rae gestured for them to gear up and move out.
Kellen shouldered her large security carrier and stepped into the narrow corridor. She walked behind Rae, easily keeping up with her wife’s brisk stride. They reached a ladder of steps welded into the bulkhead, where they climbed down two levels, and two turns later they entered the vast body of the destroyer that held its fleet of assault craft as well as six midsize transporter vessels. It smelled of metal and was hot, despite the large open area in the middle.
The crewman responsible for maintenance saluted them. “They’re ready for you, Admiral.”
“Good, Chief. We’ll try to bring them back in the same shape.”
“Appreciate that, ma’am.” The master chief checked that the stop-blocks were locked in place, then allowed the four women to climb the steps to the cockpits.
Kellen slid into the pilot’s seat, the chair encasing her body like a tight fist. She pulled the shoulder straps down over her chest and connected them with the short strap between her legs. The chair was one of the new prototypes, now being tested in action. If they had to eject in space, or into hostile environment, a force-field bubble immediately formed to keep the pilot and the navigator safe. It would stay intact even under plasma-pulse fire.
“O’Dal to bridge. Beginning quick-check.” They were in too much of a hurry to perform a disaster-check.
“Bridge here. Affirmative,” the captain of the Gallant responded.
Kellen went through the procedure, her mind now focused on makin
g sure the assault craft was ready for the demands they would place on it. When she was done, she switched the screen over to eyewear mode. Closing her visor, she saw data appear at the left side of her field of vision and along the bottom. “You all set, Rae?” Kellen asked into her mike.
“Yes. Let’s go.”
“O’Dal to bridge. Ready to commence takeoff.” Kellen flipped a few manual switches, recalibrating their sound system. There was some static, and then another voice came through.
“D’Artansis to bridge. Ready.”
Kellen had to smile at the eagerness in her friend’s voice. No matter how dangerous the circumstances, Leanne always sounded as if she was going treasure hunting with her best friends. In a way she is. The lost treasure of Gantharian freedom.
“Bridge to assault-craft teams. You’re cleared for takeoff. Return safely.”
“Affirmative. We’re off. O’Dal out.” Kellen punched in the commands for automated takeoff, and the sleek vessel hovered for a few seconds before it plunged down the center chute, which launched it into space. Immediately they were surrounded by rocks and space debris of all sizes—some as large as the mountains behind her Gantharian estate, some hardly bigger than a fist.
“Computer, set to evasive pattern delta-zero-zero-one. Maximum shields.”
The computer confirmed the precautions.
“Good. That’ll save us from denting the prototype’s features,” Rae commented dryly from the navigator’s seat. “We don’t want to return and let everyone know we scratched the boat.”
Kellen was now more used to her wife’s slightly warped sense of humor, and also to the fact that the more trouble Rae was in, the more frequent and sharp her sarcastic comments became. “Doing my best to not damage your ride, Admiral.” Kellen tried to reciprocate and was rewarded by a light chuckle.
“Much obliged.”
They flew along a precalculated trajectory until they approached the window of opportunity they needed to reach Gantharat’s atmosphere on a path that hid them from Onotharian sensors. Kellen engaged the cloaking device newly constructed for these smaller vessels, which were made from the specs taken from the Onotharian ships in custody, but altered enough that the Onotharians would be unable to break the code and decloak them.
“Trajectory for the Merealian Mountains laid in.” Rae’s voice came through distinctly across the comm system. “We’ve got a clear path.”
Kellen was grateful for the computer system, which made her job of navigating among the space debris so much easier. The small nuggets around them might seem harmless, but if a ship hit them at high speed, they could eat away at the shielding little by little and jeopardize an entire mission that had no margin for error.
They planned to set down using coordinates from Paladin, and Kellen couldn’t wait to get on the ground and familiarize herself with the situation at hand. If she could actually see and listen to her friend, everything would become more tangible, more real. The thought of Paladin and the way she’d come through for Kellen after her father’s death made Kellen vow again to do everything she could to help.
“How long have you known this Paladin?” Rae asked, unknowingly tapping into Kellen’s thoughts.
“Since I was eighteen. She took me under her wing when I joined my father’s resistance cell after he died. I had to wait until Tereya and I joined the academy so my absence from the farm wouldn’t cause concern.” Kellen leaned back farther into her seat, as if trying to get closer to Rae. “I owe her so much. She saved my life several times when I was a rookie. And she brought my father’s dead body to the farm, instead of merely dumping it anonymously at a hospital.”
“Darling.” Just one word, but uttered with such tenderness and love, it helped clean old wounds every time they talked about haunting matters of the past.
“Thank you,” Kellen murmured. “So you see, not only do I owe her, but this is my ultimate duty—keeping Armeo and his heritage safe.”
“I understand. And when you can help Paladin and her crew by doing so…”
For the first time Kellen knew in her heart that Rae understood where she was coming from. Rae always tried her best to understand her, but Kellen knew that her alien world’s customs and unwritten rules, which focused so much on honor and tradition, were difficult to grasp.
“Submitting new course. The others are on track behind us.” Rae sounded official again, but her soft words earlier made Kellen feel they also understood one another on a personal level. She’s in this for practically the same reasons I am. Fighting for the freedom of her people was just a start, Kellen realized. She knew that if the SC didn’t confront the Onotharian oppression, it would spread to other worlds. The Onotharian Empire was eyeing several less-developed planets, rich in natural resources. They needed to be stopped by any means necessary. Or am I no better than them to think that way?
Kellen watched the computer screen to the left of her field of vision and saw it would soon be time for a little hands-on flying. When they hit the Gantharian atmosphere, they’d be in for a rough ride, and she preferred to handle that part of the trip herself.
“O’Dal to D’Artansis. Switch to manual override in eighty seconds.”
“Affirmative.”
“Stay low and close to my tail. Less turbulence, smaller risk of detection.”
“Read you, O’Dal.”
“Here we go. O’Dal out.” Kellen gripped the controls with years of confidence and prepared to enter the atmosphere. A white blanket of clouds waited for her below. Kellen felt her lips pull into a broad and, she guessed, feral grin as she pierced the cumulus clouds. Turbulence rocked the assault craft, and she pulled and pushed the levers, her body one with the ship. This was her true element, just as she was one with the Ruby Red Gan’thet suit during fights to the death. As Kellen indulged in the feeling of riding the element of air like a maesha saddled for the first time, she glimpsed the green and maroon formations of the Merealian Mountains in the distance. Soon she’d be home.
Chapter Thirteen
“Ms. O’Landha is here to see you, ma’am,” Rix M’Isitor, Andreia’s assistant, announced, and stepped back from the doorway to let Roshan pass him. Both women had spent four days maintaining appearances, while preparing for the expected SC assistance.
As Roshan approached her desk, Andreia felt a stab of anticipation. Dressed entirely in black, Roshan possessed a darkish beauty, emphasized by her hair, almost silver when illuminated by the muted ceiling lights in the old Center Hall building.
Andreia stared greedily at Roshan’s toned body. The form-fitted clothes left very little to the imagination. Remembering how the softness of Roshan’s lips felt on her own, Andreia gripped the desk so hard she was afraid she might dent it. “How did you know where to find me?”
“Nice to see you, too.” Roshan shrugged, a nonchalant twitch of her right shoulder, which stretched the silky fabric over her breasts and made Andreia forget the slightly sarcastic words. “I tried to page you, but there was only a forwarding message at your office. I figured that you might have had to conduct your…business elsewhere, since your offices were compromised last week.” With a glance back at the open door, Roshan walked closer to the desk. “I felt like seeing you. It wasn’t very difficult to figure out where the new provisional Onotharian offices were located. This was a logical choice. Not many structures in Ganath can host the Onotharian administrative workforce.” She leaned closer and brushed her lips over Andreia’s forehead. “Hello, you.”
Though she knew Roshan was acting for the one-man audience able to hear and see them through the open door, Andreia realized the small caress left an exciting tingle on her skin. Very little went on in her office that Rix M’Isitor didn’t report back to his father. I bet the little weasel would report the size of my underwear if he figured it out!
Andreia knew she had to play along, to justify Roshan’s bold presence inside enemy headquarters. “Hello back,” she murmured, and hooked her hand gently around Ro
shan’s neck. “Sorry I was rude. I’ve missed you.” It was startlingly true, and Andreia pressed her lips against Roshan’s, shocked at the sudden revelation. It felt like more than four days since she’d seen Roshan, and it occurred to her only now how empty those days had been.
The kiss lasted a little longer than Andreia had planned, which she blamed on the way Roshan responded to it. She towered over Andreia and filled her hands with curls, murmuring inaudible words into her mouth. Eventually she pulled back and left Andreia breathless, speechless, for a few seconds.
“Anything important going on, or can you get out of here for today?” Roshan asked, looking pointedly at Andreia.
“Of course. Let me just clear my schedule for the next few hours.”
“I may need you longer than that,” Roshan said, and Andreia envisioned Rix sharpening his hearing.
“Oh, yes?” she replied, trying to sound playful. She was curious now, and hopeful that there had been a new development in their plans.
“Oh, yes.” There was nothing teasing in the way Roshan spoke.
“Just a minute, then.” Andreia walked out to her assistant where he sat by his desk. When Andreia informed him of her altered plans, being his usual pompous self, Rix nodded approvingly.
“Very well, ma’am. If you stay in regular touch with me, I’ll make sure you don’t miss a thing at this end. Ms. O’Landha is an important contact. Enjoy yourself.”
Andreia wanted to smack the impertinent brat. She would’ve assumed that the rank of an assistant was not one the son of an Onotharian dignitary would accept, but this appeared to be a coveted job, judging from how Rix acted around her. Andreia had always suspected that Dixmon M’Isitor placed people he trusted implicitly in positions like these, to stretch his tentacles everywhere. The fact that Rix didn’t seem to suspect anything about Boyoda, as far as she could tell, was reassuring.
“Thank you. Take the afternoon off. I won’t need you anymore today.”